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It was a massive bedroom equipped with every imaginable luxury and comfort. Anyone who took a close look at the room would be certain that Allah had blessed its occupant with immense wealth, as it was adorned with all kinds of fine amenities. One glance was enough to tell you that the owner of the room was a woman; the vanity table was packed with makeup and skincare products, and a display glass showcase stood filled with women's luxury shoes and handbags, looking just like a boutique. Looking at those shoes and bags, you could easily tell they did not belong to a poor person. On the gigantic bed in the room lay a beautiful young lady, her hair spread out as she slept peacefully.
The sunlight piercing through the window beat against her face, causing her to stir gently and open her eyes.
Frowning slightly, she sat up and checked the wall clock in her room. It was 9:30 AM. She slowly swung her feet down to the floor, stood up, and headed toward the en-suite bathroom. The bathroom itself was an earthly paradise, worth stopping to admire.
After taking her bath, the young woman emerged wrapped only in a towel. Surprisingly, her bed had already been made since she got up. She sat in front of the mirror, applying various lotions and creams. She did everything slowly and deliberately. She picked out a blouse and skirt, put them on along with a short veil placed over her head, and slipped into extremely high heels that matched her handbag. She checked her wristwatch—it was exactly 10:30 AM—before opening her door and stepping out.
She walked with an aura of immense pride, her high heels making a distinct *kwas, kwas* sound. She entered a massive living room and sat down. She hadn't been seated long when a housemaid brought a platter of fruits and placed it before her. She didn't even look toward the fruits; her eyes were fixed on the wristwatch on her wrist.
"You know, Isa, village life has its own unique joys, but it also has its hardships," Sani remarked.
The one called Isa replied, “Come on, my brother, what kind of joy is there in the village? Have you ever seen someone living in the city move back to the village? Aside from pure hardship, what else is in the village?”
“Well, village life offers more peace of mind than the city. No chaos, no anxiety. But look at the city, dishonesty thrives here.”
“Good grief, Sani! Ever since Allah brought me to the city and I got this security guard job, if I ever go to the village, it's just for a visit. But as for living there? Not me. I am actually close to bringing my family over here too.”
“You mean you're bringing your family to this very house? But you just told me you live in constant anxiety because you could be fired at any moment.”
Isa replied, “Heaven forbid I bring my family into this house! I'll rent a place of my own.”
They continued their conversation, debating back and forth about city life versus village life.
She checked her watch again; it was fifteen minutes to twelve. Standing up with her proud stride, she walked out into the compound and headed straight to the main gate, where the security guard sat chatting with his friend Sani while eating peanuts.
Seeing her from a distance, Isa scrambled to his feet, trembling. “May Allah help you. Welcome out, ma'am.”
Without acknowledging his greeting, she asked, “Has Sabo the driver still not arrived?”
Respectfully, he replied, “Yes, Your Ladyship, he hasn't arrived yet.”
Scowling, she nodded and walked back inside the house.
"Isa, who is she? I noticed you started trembling the moment she approached," Sani asked.
Isa whispered, “Oh man, don't even go there. She is the owners' only daughter. She has no older or younger siblings—Alhaji’s absolute favorite. It's been three months since she returned from Europe. This girl is completely untouchable; she behaves exactly like white people. Today, Sabo is in deep trouble, wallahi.”
Sani asked, “What do you mean his luck has run out? What’s going to happen?”
Before he could finish his sentence, someone began banging on the gate. Isa rushed to open it. A man, who looked to be at least forty years old, rushed in as if he were being chased.
Isa looked at him and said, “Good grief, Sabo. Today your luck has run out. She just came out here looking for you.”
The man named Sabo began crying out in distress, “I am ruined! What do I do now? Wallahi, my son was sick, and I took him to the chemist.”
Isa replied, “You shouldn't be explaining this to me. Go find her and tell her yourself.”
While they were speaking, she stepped outside again. Her face was stern, devoid of any warmth. She looked at Sabo and asked, “What time did I tell you I wanted to go out?”
Trembling, he replied, “Eleven o'clock, Your Ladyship.”
“What time is it now?”
“Twelve ten.”
“Good. Give me my car keys.”
Sabo pleaded, “For God's sake, please forgive me, Your Ladyship. Wallahi, my son was unwell, and I took him to the chemist.”
She shouted, “Shut up! Did I ask you that? Give me my keys!”
He attempted to kneel down, but she snapped, “Stop! Do these cars belong to your father or to me?”
“They belong to you, Hajiya.”
“If they belong to me, bring me my keys. You are fired. The security guard will be given your remaining money to hand over to you. Let this be a lesson to you from today onward. A promise is important, and keeping it is a sign of trustworthiness. The working hours I hired you for belong to me, not to you, because I pay you. Therefore, you must seek my permission before doing anything else, no matter how important it is—unless it is an act of worship—because I pay you.”
As soon as she finished speaking, she turned around and walked back into the house. Sabo slumped to the ground, holding his head in despair.
Isa comforted him, “Sabo, you just have to bear it. May Allah grant you a better job than this.”
Deeply distressed, Sabo replied, "Ameen, Isa. Thank you very much, may Allah reward you with good. When she releases the rest of my money, I’ll come back to collect it." They said their goodbyes, and Sabo walked out of the house, heavy-hearted and miserable.
After Sabo left, Sani asked anxiously, “Wait, Isa, let me ask you: doesn't she have anyone who can advise her? Doesn't she know right from wrong? Doesn't she understand forgiveness or excuses?”
Isa replied, “Good grief! You might know about those things, but she certainly doesn't. This girl has a terrible mindset (*Aƙida*) that she grew up with because of her time living with white people. Her heart is like that of a non-believer; she possesses western ideals entirely, not Islamic ones. No one can get close to her and live in peace. Her stepmother lives here in this house with her own children, yet two weeks can pass without them setting eyes on her, let alone speaking to her. She treats them like her servants. The only times you see her smile is with her father, a close friend of his, or a few of her friends. She trusts no one. She believes anyone who tries to get close to her has hidden motives. Sabo is the fourth driver she has had since returning to Nigeria. The pay is excellent and her father gives generous gifts, but every employee ends up fleeing on their own feet due to her arrogance and terrible temper. Even the housemaids—I personally brought six from our village—all ran away. Now look at how she humiliated and fired Sabo today despite all his patience and hard work.”
Sani took a deep sigh and said, “So where is her mother? How was she allowed to grow up with this kind of mindset (*Aƙida*), which is completely at odds with our Islamic principles and culture?”
Isa answered, “Her mother passed away. As for her father, everything she does is perfect in his eyes. He says that making her angry feels like pouring fire into his own heart.”
Sani pondered Isa's words deeply. He bade Isa goodbye, pushed his wheelbarrow of mangoes, and left the neighborhood.
A young man, barely thirty years old, sat on a chair with his entire attention and thoughts fixed on the computer screen on the desk before him. He didn't even blink, staring intently as if analyzing something of monumental importance.
A knock on the office door brought him back to reality. He calmly said, “Yes, come in.”
The door pushed open and a young lady walked in. She was dressed in a black suit with a small black veil, and even her shoes were black. Walking with an attractive stride, she approached his desk and said, “Good day, sir.”
With an expressionless face, he responded, “Hello, how can I help you?”
With an air of flirtatiousness, she said, “Actually, the boss said he wants to see you in his office.”
He nodded slightly. “Alright, I'll go, Insha Allah.”
In a pampered tone, she added, “Can I offer you something to eat? You look like you haven't eaten anything today.”
He shook his head and said, “No, thank you.”
“But sir, please, where is Yusuf?”
Without looking up, he replied, “He hasn't come in.”
She left the office visibly disappointed, muttering to herself in a complaining tone, “No matter what you do, you can never impress these guys—neither him nor Yusuf. At least this one is better than that other one who acts like a mute and only speaks when he feels like it.”
He closed his laptop, turned it off, picked up his phone and car keys, slung his jacket over his shoulder along with his bag, and left for another office.
Upon entering the other office, he stood at attention and respectfully saluted the man inside, who was clearly his superior. He remained standing until he was permitted to sit, and they exchanged greetings again.
The man looked up at him and asked, “Abbas, do you think there will be any problems with this assignment given to you? You know the dangers involved—can you handle it? Do you see any progress on the case?”
The one called Abbas smiled respectfully and said, “Don't worry at all, sir. Insha Allah, I can handle it. We will succeed, and I am very hopeful. Once I leave here, I am going to meet Yusuf; you know he is the backbone of this operation.”
“That's true. Alright then, may Allah bring about good and grant you success. I trust your competence. Good luck.”
“Ameen, sir. Thank you.”
Yusuf sat on his bed, surrounded by scattered documents and two laptops, tapping away on one and then the other. After a while, he paused, staring intently at the photos of a stunning young girl. The girl, who appeared to be around eighteen years old, was wearing short white shorts and a matching white top. She wore a white hat that let her hair flow down—hair he couldn't quite tell was natural or extensions. Wearing large black sunglasses, she flashed a bright smile. Behind her was a vast expanse of deep blue water. In her left hand, she held a leash wrapped around the neck of a massive, pure white dog. The girl looked exceptionally beautiful in the photo. He remained perfectly still, analyzing the pictures as if trying to uncover a hidden secret within them.
His phone began to ring, pulling him out of his deep contemplation. He checked the caller ID and saw Abbas's name on the screen. He answered and brought the phone to his ear. “Assalamu Alaikum warahmatullah.”
From the other end, the greeting was returned, and the caller added, “I am right outside your room door. Are you inside so I can come in? I have news for you.”
“Yes, I'm inside. Just come in.”
Before he could hang up, the door pushed open and Abbas walked in with a greeting. Yusuf sat up, set his phone aside, and said, “Man, ever since you emailed me those photos of that girl two days ago, we haven't met, and you turned off your phone. Because of this case, I haven't even been going to the office; I've just been doing non-stop research. Where on earth did you disappear to?”
Abbas replied, “Let me sit down first before I explain everything to you, master of complaints.”
“Fine, sit down quickly and fill me in. What news do you bring?”
Abbas found a spot to sit, set his bag down, focused his attention on Yusuf, and said, “Yusuf, did you see the photos of the girl I emailed to you?”
“Yes, I saw them. I've been analyzing them, but I don't know why you sent them.”
Abbas adjusted his posture and said, “Those are photos of Alhaji Nasir Daula’s daughter. Our entire mission revolves around her. For the past two weeks, I’ve been going to their house posing as a mango seller and a manicurist. I managed to get on the good side of their security guard, so whenever I go, I sit and chat with him before leaving.”
Yusuf sat up straighter. “But I still don't see how she connects to our investigation.”
“Who says she doesn't? Through her, we will get everything we want. She is Alhaji Nasiru's only daughter, and she is the primary target of his enemies. Our job isn't just about investigating; it also involves protecting her.”
Yusuf countered, “Abbas, you know very well that this is a covert investigation. Alhaji Nasir himself doesn't know it's happening, so how are we supposed to protect his daughter?”
Abbas explained, “Exactly, my friend. She will never know what we are up to, just like her father doesn't. From my conversations with the security guard, she returned from America three months ago, where she has lived her whole life. Her mother is late, and she lives with her stepmother. During this time, her father has completely spoiled her with money. To put it mildly, she is a deeply rebellious girl with a stubborn, rigid mindset (*Aƙida*) just like a Westerner. She values her cat and dog more than the human beings around her. She doesn't know the pain of poverty, so she never makes excuses or shows leniency to any poor person. In fact, she views poor people as servants to the rich. She never backs down or compromises for those beneath her...”
"Look, hold on. This story is getting too long; give me the summarized version," Yusuf interrupted.
Abbas said, “That's your problem—always impatient. The photos I sent you are her photos.”
“Okay, so what am I supposed to do with them?”
Abbas grinned. “Now we're getting to the point. Since her return three months ago, five drivers have been fired because they couldn't tolerate her behavior. She is incredibly arrogant and insulting. Just yesterday, she humiliated and fired her driver right in front of me. The security guard just told me that her father instructed him to find a new driver to take her out. He complained to me that he is tired of finding people only for her to humiliate them. The pay is excellent, but her character and rigid mindset (*Aƙida*) make people run away. So, I told him to leave it to me—that I would find her a driver. And I want *you* to be that driver!!”
Yusuf glared intensely at Abbas. “Are you out of your mind? What stopped *you* from becoming her driver? Why should I go and drive a little girl just to have her humiliate me? For what? I'm not doing it, honestly. You are my senior on this mission, so you should go do it.”
In a soothing tone, Abbas reasoned, “Calm down, brother. I know you can handle it because you have unmatched patience. Look at me—I have no patience. If she does something nasty to me, I might end up beating her up, and then I'll end up in prison. But everyone knows you for your patience and wisdom; you can pull this off. I spoke with the boss earlier and assured him we can handle this assignment. The girl herself is in grave danger. She needs protection and monitoring.”
Yusuf hissed softly. “Honestly, I despise humiliation. A small girl disrespecting me just because I'm poor? You've really set me up by tying me to this case. I would have preferred to stay with my computers and my own problems; that would be much better for me.”
Abbas shifted closer. “This is for our career advancement if we succeed. Please, for God's sake, endure it. Besides, Yusuf, it's time for you to let go of your worries, face life, forget the past challenges, and build your future.”
Bitterly, Yusuf replied, “Oh Abbas, you look at my problems as if they are trivial. But Allah alone knows the burning pain and ache I feel in my heart whenever I remember who I am. What kind of life am I going to build when I don't even have the foundation to support it? What happened to me made me lose interest in everything. Now, I leave my affairs to Allah, hold onto my Creator, and cherish my mother and my job. I know I have nothing else.”
Abbas placed a hand on Yusuf's shoulder. “Yusuf, success doesn't come without testing human beings. Have patience with your destiny; Allah is aware of your plight.”
Yusuf sighed, “That is true. May Allah give me the strength to pass this trial.”
Abbas replied with an Ameen, then added, “The next phase of the mission will only begin after you become her driver. That's when I will reveal the next plan and tell you exactly what you need to do.”
Yusuf concluded, “May Allah guide me, make it a source of good, and grant us success.”
“Ameen, ya Allah. By the way, your admirer came to my office earlier putting on a show and asking where you were.”
Yusuf asked, “Who exactly?”
“You know her better than I do. Who else but Sakina?”
Yusuf hissed. “For God's sake, Abbas, stop bringing that girl into my affairs. Ever since what happened to me, I avoid any involvement with women. Even this job you and the boss assigned to me is only because I have no choice; it's strictly business. Let alone someone like Sakina. I am afraid of women; I prefer to protect my honor, keep my dignity, and accept the position Allah has placed me in. I learned my lesson from what happened to me.”
Abbas said, "That's true, you're right, Yusuf. But know that if we succeed in this mission, it will be your breakthrough. You will benefit the most. Once the job kicks off fully, I will reveal more things to you." Abbas continued to comfort and persuade Yusuf until he finally agreed to visit Alhaji Nasiru Daula's house over the weekend to be screened. If he passed, he would be formally introduced as the new driver for this young girl with the terrible mindset (*Aƙida*)—the daughter of a wealthy tycoon with a twisted perspective on life!
After Abbas left, Yusuf spent a long time contemplating this massive task. He looked again at the beautiful photos of the girl whose name he didn't even know yet. She had an innocent face in the photos—so young and beautiful—but how could she possess such terrible traits? If she truly had all the negative qualities described to him, would he really be able to do this job? And why hadn't Abbas explained the full scope of the mission to him, insisting he had to start working for the girl first?
"I just hope they aren't throwing me into a chaotic mess," he muttered aloud. He stood up, gathered the items scattered across his mattress, and left the room.
Since it was evening and he wasn't one to socialize or meddle in people's business, he went into his mother's room, picked up her laundry, and washed everything thoroughly. He swept everywhere and started cooking like a woman. He did all his chores calmly and deliberately, finishing the rice and stew, which he poured into a flask. By then, the call to Maghrib prayer was sounding. He performed his ablutions and headed out to the mosque.
*Bismillahir rahmanirrahim. In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful. This book is a work of fiction. I did not write it to insult or demean any individual, gender, or tribe. If anyone finds any resemblance to their life or culture, please accept my apologies; it was not done with malicious intent. This book is my property, and I do not permit any unauthorized adaptation or reproduction in any form without my permission.*
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A mature woman sat in a massive, grand living room filled with luxurious amenities. She
